


Rapacity

by AngelPair



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: AU, Bottom England (forced), Canada POV, Dark, Forced Sex, M/M, One-Sided Relationship, Possessive Behavior, R18, Rape/Non-con Elements, Top Canada (forced), Twisted America, Unstable America, Vague historical setting, Virgin Canada, Voyeurism, alternative history, messed up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-15 17:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18673957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelPair/pseuds/AngelPair
Summary: America was not himself. America was unstable, paranoid, and powerful. America got what he wanted, he got who he wanted, and when things didn't go his way, he made sure that the consequences were unforgettable.CanadaxEngland sex (non-consensual on both parts), USUK relationship.Warnings – Explicit non-con, unstable!America, possessive!America.This fic is not intended to be part of canonverse, and is a vague, extended Cold War alternative history AU.





	Rapacity

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that this FanFiction contains, and centres around, explicit rape. If this is something that will trigger you or heavily disturb you, do not read. As the material is heavy and not suited for everyone, you are free to criticise the morals of this story without having read it.

Canada stood at America’s front door, frightened. He was often frightened nowadays, so long as the situation had anything to do with America. There was no answer to his knocking, so after a minute to build up his nerves, he let himself in. He knew it was best to keep America waiting for as short a time as possible… but it also took a certain amount of courage to open that door and step inside.

 

The United States of America did not rule over Canada. At least not politically, legally, or in any official way. But the technical truth, in terms of the personified nation states and the complicated relationships between them, was that America owned nearly whatever he wanted. Most of the Western world was on edge around the USA, who had, over the past few years, degenerated into a paranoid, powerful, and dangerous time bomb. And if you had (or, in Canada’s case, were) someone he _really_  wanted, he would have you. And you’d be reckless to say no.

 

And Canada was not reckless. He was a cautious young man. And so he entered his brother’s home and quietly removed his coat. The large house was near silent, which was a sure indicator that America was not home for the day. Making his way to the kitchen, he found a note pinned to the counter.

 

_Canada_

 

_Had to rush out, small political emergency. Back ASAP! Help yourself to a Coke!_

 

_USA_

 

He sighed. More nervous waiting, then. America never gave a reason for calling on Canada, but there was always one. Sometimes the superpower wanted to hang out, drink some beer, and play some sport. Sometimes something had triggered his paranoia, and he had to spend weeks living with a livid American to convince him he was not scheming with communists to destroy the country in whatever way possible.

 

It was temporary, France had tried to assure him. These things always are. It happens. Not every nation will stay sane through times of turmoil. He’d seen much worse, he had said, from countless nations, during revolutions and civil wars and so on. It was a waiting game.

 

But really, France didn’t know the half of it. America did not care about France. He didn’t obsess over France’s political alignments, his meetings, his friendships. He didn’t come up with paranoid delusions about France betraying him, spying, converting. He never left France trembling and trying to press himself into a corner, with furniture and décor flying about the place as he ranted accusations about him sleeping with Russia or forming secret alliances with China. France had an outsider’s view of an unstable, powerful nation’s temporary breakdown. Canada was the one who had to see it up close, nasty and personal.

 

England had a better understanding of things.

 

“The world isn’t what it used to be,” the nation had lamented tiredly over lunch one day, picking listlessly at a sandwich. “It doesn’t matter anymore that I’m an island. Not when there're airplanes, bombs, satellites. When France lost his marbles during his little revolution, I did not visit him, and I was safe from his tantrums. Things don’t work like that now.”

 

Yes, England understood, and probably much better than Canada did himself. In comparison, Canada was lucky. He was lucky that America saw him as a brother and a friend. He was unfortunate that America cared about him just enough to be so paranoid over his allegiances, but lucky in _how_ America obsessed over him. America did not want to suffer betrayal from his northern brother, but even more so he did not want to be betrayed by his romantic partner, his self-proclaimed ‘destined’ true love.

 

The ‘love’ may have been one-sided, England would not admit to it either way. Canada suspected he did not love America in such a manner. He had merely displayed an unusual resignation, a nonchalance, when he had told Canada, “What other choice is there for me? If I at least play along as Arthur Kirkland then perhaps my country will be safe. If he wanted to take my nation then he could. And if it was the only way to have me, then he would. He is a spoilt child, but a deadly one, so I’ll play his game if I have to.”

 

Settling himself tensely into an armchair, Canada wondered if England was in the house. He usually was, the old nation didn’t get much time in his own country anymore. It was unlikely, since England would have probably made his presence known by now, but it was always nice to get a few words in with England without America watching over them. Canada decided to at least check. Safety in numbers was a comfort. He hadn’t brought the companionship of Kumajiro (he didn’t dare take anything he cared about into America’s unstable presence, lest it not come out in one piece) but at least he wasn’t always alone in this.

 

“England?” he called towards the upper floor. No response. He could have been napping or out of earshot, so he headed upstairs.

 

“England?” he tried again, wandering down the corridor. Still, silence. Shrugging, he went to leave, but not before one last effort, nudging open the door to America’s study, where he could often find England working on paperwork or reading a novel. He froze. England was there, yes, but so was America.

 

“Canada!” America greeted with a dark smile. England was silent. The scene wasn’t right. America wasn’t happy despite the grin. He looked completely unhinged, in fact, standing behind England with an arm wrapped around the smaller nation’s shoulders. England himself was tense, although his expression did not give much away. He did not meet Canada’s eyes and stared blankly ahead, not moving a muscle. Both had been expecting him.

 

“Why am I not surprised,” America shook his head, releasing England’s shoulders and stalking towards Canada, “that the first thing you did when you found out I wasn’t here was come looking for England?”

 

It was a setup, but for what, Canada did not understand. He tilted his head, frightened and confused. “What?”

 

“Don’t,” America hissed, “play the innocent act. I _know.”_

 

“Know...?”

 

“I know about you and England,” America paced slowly, dangerously... like a predator, “I know about all your secret meetings, your little schemes. I know how you feel about each other, what you’ve been doing to each other when you think no one is there to see.”

 

Canada’s breath caught in his throat and his stomach turned at the false accusation. It was the first he had heard about this delusion, so it was a new one… and it sounded like a dangerous one too. It was always how it went. America would find a new paranoia, and it would grow, become concrete as the truth in his mind, and then he would explode.

 

“America, please,” England‘s voice sounded tired and strained, like he had already argued this point, “This is all in your head. That is not the relationship I have with Canada.”

 

America acted like England had not spoken at all.

 

“But I decided something, little bro. If you want England so bad, you can have him! Isn’t that _generous_ of me?”

 

Canada did not like the unstable grin on America’s face, and he shook his head. “I-I don’t…“ He took a breath and steadied his voice, “England and I are just friends. I don’t want England in that way.”

 

America’s grin widened. “Bullshit. But don’t worry. I called you here so that the two of you can get it out of your system all at once. Then you won’t need… or want… to be sniffing around England so much.”

 

_This is temporary,_ Canada remembered France’s words. _Play his game,_ he remembered England’s. He nodded, his eyes never leaving the angry nation in front of him. “Okay, America, I understand. I’ll go. And I’ll never speak to England again.”

 

America tutted and retreated to England’s side. “No. You can’t just walk away. I told you, get it out of your system first. Come here,” he beckoned.

 

Confused and reluctant, Canada did as requested.

 

“Look here.” America nodded to his left. “I’ve cleared the desk for you.” 

 

As promised, the large desk was empty of paperwork and stationery. A large silk sheet covered it. Canada had a terrible feeling.

 

“And England, don’t look so upset. It was you who always taught me to share. So why don’t you take your clothes off like a good little traitor and give Canada what you both want so badly,”

 

England didn’t move. The poor man looked sick now and was staring firmly at the floor. Canada felt sick too–both at seeing proud England look so helpless, and at what America was suggesting. He had to say, or do, _something_ to get both England and himself out of this.

 

“America, listen, please. England is my friend. That’s all. We’re both on your side. We wouldn’t betray you. And we can prove it. I can leave and England and I will never meet again, if that’s what you want,”

 

America snorted. “Sure, sure. I know what I know. England, clothes off.”

 

England shook his head. “I don’t want to do this, Alfred. Please. Canada doesn’t want to do this. We’re sorry, he can go and...”

 

America cut the Brit off with just one look.

 

“I don’t think either of you understand what’s going on here,” he growled, “I _know_ , for an absolute fact, what is going on between you both. And so you are both going to do exactly as I say, and then Canada will leave, and then you will never speak to each other again and you will never even _want_ to speak to each other again because you will know how much worse I can do than this. You are in my house, and you will play my game and follow my rules, and we will resolve this right here and now between the three of us, as people and not as nations. And it will start with England undressing. Now.”

 

“America...” Canada began another protest, but England was already shakily removing his shirt. Briefly, their eyes met. England looked exhausted, stressed, and his eyes bore desperately into Canada’s own. _Play his game,_ they pleaded, and Canada understood, _play along and our people are safe._

 

Canada looked away, head hung in resignation. It didn’t go unnoticed. “Canada, watch. Don’t pretend this isn’t what you want.”

 

Reluctantly, Canada looked. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t imagine how England felt. The nation was shirtless, slim, pale, and heavily scarred, as most nations were. Fresh bruises marred his neck, hips, and wrists. Evidently, America was rough and possessive in bed. It was not the sort of thing England liked others to know about him.

 

Canada focused his stare intently on England’s collarbone as the older nation continued to undress. It was a safe zone. It was too high up the body to be a private area, but not so high that could look in England’s eyes and see the discomfort and broken pride.

 

“Good, England. Very nice. Beautiful.” America sounded appreciative. Maybe he’d forget about Canada all together and he could slip away and not have to go through this.

 

“Canada, get your dick out. Nothing more than that, I don’t want to see anything gross, bro.”

 

Or maybe that would be too good to be true. It was almost laughable, the way America could sound so immature and vaguely like his true self, whilst demanding something that made Canada feel so sick inside. He didn’t move, couldn’t.

 

America sighed.

 

“England, get it out for him.”

 

And the Brit obeyed, suddenly on his knees in front of the dazed Canadian, fumbling with the button to his jeans and slipping his boxers down.

 

“ _I’m sorry,”_ he whispered. Canada snapped back to reality.

 

“That’s good, England. You know what I want you to do now, right? Nothing you probably haven’t done for him a hundred times already on all your little lunch dates. So why don’t you get on with it, then. He can’t fuck you if he’s soft.”

 

“ _I’m sorry,”_ England whispered again. Canada stared down at the top of the nation’s head.

 

_So am I._

 

He could feel England’s hot breath ghosting his cock. It didn’t feel all bad, but the older nation was hesitating. Canada didn’t blame him, but America was probably not in a patient mood, so it was a relief when England gently took him into his mouth.

 

It was good, Canada felt guilty to admit it. He had never received oral before. And England seemed to know what he was doing. Canada was hardening quickly under the influence of such a talented tongue, and he could almost forget about the situation he was in. But not entirely, not yet. Not when America was staring him down with such a sadistically nasty sneer, and not when there were tears gathering in the corners of England’s eyes.

 

“England, you’re barely moving. You can do more than that.”

 

It was a command, and Canada felt England swallow around him before he increased his pacing, sliding himself down the cock to the hilt. Canada gasped. He had felt nothing like it before, and as England bobbed rapidly, he bucked forward into his mouth, only a few times at first, before receiving no negative reaction and beginning a steady pace of face fucking.

 

“Comfortable with that, aren’t you both? Like I already knew you would be.”

 

Canada snapped back to reality, and England pulled away.

 

“N-no,” England stuttered, and Canada felt sick with guilt. The Brit had not been enjoying it. He looked upset and disturbed. _Dammit,_ Canada thought to himself. He hadn’t meant to lose himself like that. _I’m a piece of crap._

 

“Well, looks like you’re good and ready for the real show. Why don’t you get up on the desk England,”

 

England stood, a little shaky, probably from being on his knees for so long. He pulled himself up onto the desk with a little difficulty, perched on the side of his thighs and looking unsure of himself. His silence wasn’t helping Canada’s nerves, or his guilt, and he couldn’t help but notice England’s desperate attempts to cover himself.

 

“Hands and knees, silly.”

 

England shook his head. Canada truly felt for him.

 

“This is enough. You’ve done enough. We’ve got your point,” he pleaded, wanting to spare the Brit any further humiliation. “Please, America.”

 

America ignored him. “How far have you two gone, anyhow?” America asked, “I know Canada hasn’t been with anyone else. Gone far enough to know how to prepare an ass, bro, or do you need me to show you?”

 

“We’ve done nothing, Alfred, we’ve never so much as touched each other more than a hug,” England’s fists were nervously clutching handfuls of the silk sheet, some of it pulled over himself to hide his most intimate areas.

 

America just shook his head. “I don’t like all these lies, Artie. Turn yourself over like I told you to… if you want any lube.”

 

With reluctance, England turned himself over, slipping a little on the sheets. Canada looked away out of respect, but he felt inexcusably hot. It wasn’t pleasant–not when it was mixed with fear and nausea.

 

“Good, spread your knees more,” Canada heard, and he winced a little as he glanced over. The sight went straight to his cock; England leaning on his elbows, milky cheeks spread for him. He had never felt that way about England before but he was a deprived gay man and England was far from ugly and he couldn’t help it. But that soon went to his conscience too, and he looked away again, feeling terrible. _This isn’t fair on him. This isn’t fair on you. Don’t lose yourself again._

 

“You’re no good all the way over there, Mattie. Come here and get started on him,” Alfred slammed a small jar down on to the desk, causing both England and Canada to jump, before backing off with his arms crossed. There wasn’t much room for argument, and Canada approached, almost warily. He presumed that the jar was lubricant. He hadn’t done this before, but the situation was bad enough without America holding his hand, so he went with it.

 

The gel-like solution was cold on his fingers, despite the ambient temperature in the room. He let it sit on his fingers, staring at it, refusing to look anywhere else… England’s tensed form in particular. He flinched, distracted, having not seen America approach, when he felt a sudden and painful grip on his wrist.

 

“Like this, get a move on,” and America forced his hand to meet his target–the pink, puckered hole of his former mentor. His cock jumped again. America let go of his wrist. Getting the idea, Canada smeared some solution across England’s entrance. The nation was silent and still beneath him. Gently, Canada slid a finger in. There was still no reaction from England. Canada felt ashamed that he did not feel quite the same, and he watched with fascination as England easily swallowed his finger, and then two more.

 

He may not have done it before, but it was intuitive. He slid his fingers in and out, stretched them around a little. It wasn’t difficult. Canada didn’t know if it was always this easy or if it was because England took it on the regular from America anyway, who was no doubt bigger than a few fingers.

 

Despite being largely raised by France, Canada did not know much about these things. He was a shy, awkward man who preferred to keep to himself and his own hand was all he had needed before. It hit him then he was about to lose his virginity, rape a fellow nation, and suffer rape himself, all at once. He lost his fascination. He felt his cock softening a little, but not completely. This wasn’t okay... but he had no choice, so he kept working, aware that the better a job he did now the easier things would be for England later.

 

“That’s it, he’s good and ready now. You can get on with it.”

 

Canada swallowed heavily. England was still soft. Canada wasn’t, and he felt like a terrible person.

 

_Play his game._ That would be England’s advice. England would not blame him for this. They both knew it was what they had to do to protect their nations. And so gently he took England’s upper thighs in his hands, avoiding the bruised hips, and positioned himself. He was tall enough to not need to join England on the desk, his own crotch at the perfect height for the task.

 

And then he hesitated. It felt wrong. England was so still in his hands. Canada himself felt ill and uncomfortable. He was being watched; he was doing this under duress. It felt good in some ways… biologically, physically… an inexperienced virgin presented with something he had only ever imagined before. Never England, specifically. Never anyone in particular, just blank, faceless bodies for his fantasies. But his head and his stomach were unsettled and stressed. _Play his game,_ he told himself. He clenched his teeth. _Play his game-_ and he slid himself in.

 

England felt tense under his fingers, but not around his cock. Canada took that as a sign he had done a good enough job of preparing the Brit. He wanted to remain still, wanted to ask England if he was okay, but both restraining himself from the physical pleasure and opening his mouth through his nagging nausea weren’t possible. So he thrust, gently. And then again. It came naturally, and he soon found a rhythm.

 

He wasn’t sure how England felt. Physically, at least. Mentally he was surely distraught, as tough as he was. Canada had never had anything up his ass before. He didn’t know if there was sensation there of if he should give attention to England’s own cock. The smaller Brit was still soft. But maybe, at least, not getting off on this was some dignity for England to cling to, so Canada left him alone.

 

Luckily for both of them, Canada was quickly growing close. It was his first time; he didn’t expect himself to last long. Or maybe he should have lasted forever, given the situation. But he finished, muscles tensed and hips pressed flush against England’s bare cheeks as he did all he could to stifle a groan. A pleasured noise would not help the situation.

 

He pulled out. There was no afterglow. There was nothing at all positive. Not that the situation had been pleasant previously, but the animalistic pleasure that had made things bearable only moments ago swiftly left Canada, replaced by a sick discomfort at what had just happened. He was a victim, but was he a rapist now too? And was losing your virginity not meant to be a joyous, treasured memory? And would England be okay after this? He was an old and experienced nation, but Canada knew he’d rather have taken a thousand bullets than gone through this humiliation.

 

Canada felt a silken material drag against his still bare thighs. England, who had pulled himself up to be sitting on his knees, was silently pulling up the sheet to cover himself. He wanted to ask the older nation if he would be all right, but he was certain the Brit would not want to hear such a question. Instead, he buttoned up his own clothing, hoping that he would soon be on his way home to forget about this forever.

 

To his left, America was silent but smug. Far too smug. For someone who had gone to an extreme like this out of jealousy, he was awfully happy to have shared out his partner. But America was not currently a sane man, and so Canada didn’t expect to understand what was going on his head. At least he seemed satisfied. He had achieved his sick and bizarre goal. Canada didn’t meet his eyes, instead focusing on the nation’s jaw.

 

“I bet you’re not so desirable to each other now, hm? Now that when you think of each other’s bodies, you’ll remember being forced to fuck on the table in my study.”

 

Neither replied, though Canada hardened his stare. He didn’t dare to glare, however.

 

“Well, Canada, you can go now. Forever. You don’t have to bother trying to keep your hands off England, because he won’t be going out unsupervised. And I’m sure this will keep you from sniffing around here again.”

 

_But it’s not forever; this is temporary. Just temporary._ Canada told himself, nodding at America. It was no use arguing his intentions at this point. Still, he didn’t take his eyes off the nation. He didn’t know whether to trust America’s supposed placation, or to expect a trick. He walked backwards, his back hitting the door, and he left quickly. He didn’t bother to shame England further by starting at him. He kept focused on America’s chin, closed the door behind him, and made his way through the hall and down the stairs as fast as he could without outright running.

 

His valet, who had been awaiting further instruction, was still in the driveway. Canada told him they were going straight home. The man looked a little tired just at the suggestion, having expected a night of rest, but despite it being against his considerate nature, Canada’s decision was unwavering. He would make up for it with a hefty tip later, when he was in his own country and far out of harm’s way.

 

He could not relax until America’s home was far behind him. When there was no chance of America changing his mind, chasing him down the road and demanding he come back and perform more sodomy, he finally let himself lean exhaustedly against the window and cry.


End file.
